His Miracle
by datawolf39
Summary: Sherlock shows up after the Fall. it's a Christmas fic so it's happy. not a slash but it is goggle friendly. R and R as always.


John awoke quite suddenly panting heavily from a nightmare that he could not remember. He grabbed his cellphone off of the table at his bedside and saw that it was midnight.

"Merry Christmas John," he murmured to himself sadly.

He had nothing to do today. Sarah had selfishly refused to allow him to work because of the ridiculous work ethic that he had adopted. Since Sherlock had died he had totally dedicated himself to the Surgery. He had begun working seventeen hour days and sometimes more. He barely ate and hardly slept. Whatever sleep he did manage to get was always filled with an odd and unsettling mixture of Sherlock's suicide and the memories of the war.

He told no one that he was off though because he didn't want them or their pity. He was a grown man and he didn't need them or his therapist telling him how pathetic he was and reminding him that had lost friends before. Sherlock was special though he had always been and now he was gone and John was a shell of a man living the rest of his life barely noticing the passing of the days.

He had stayed at 221 B for a time to be there for Mrs. Hudson but soon the memories became too much for the former army doctor and he had to move. He didn't move too far away but it was just a bit better to have that slight amount of distance between him and what had been home when Sherlock was alive.

John stretched and gathered clothes so that he could go take a shower. He knew that there was no chance that he would be able to go back to sleep now.

Suddenly there was a quiet thud from down the hall. The only reason he heard it was that his bedroom door was open and there were no other sounds save the passing of a car at irregular intervals. John didn't bother to grab his gun he really had stopped caring about his life a long time ago.

He opened the door of his small flat and his eyes fell upon a heap of a man dressed in a long black coat, not the one that he was used to but close enough, and a blue scarf. It took a second for him to recognize him; he blamed that on the shock, and then he gasped when he realized that it was Sherlock. He quickly grabbed him and dragged him inside.

Minutes later John had him on the couch which was his only piece of furniture and that was bought out of necessity since guest, however rare they were these days, need a place to sit. Though now he was happy for it. John quickly tugged off Sherlock's drenched clothing and was startled to feel how cold the skin was. He was soaking wet and even his pants were soaked through.

John dashed to his room and grabbed his largest items of clothing and dashed back. Sherlock hadn't moved an inch in that time. After John had clothed him he lit a fire and set the wet items close to it. Once more he went down the hall and grabbed a heavy blanket and a thermometer.

Once he had placed the blanket over Sherlock and stuck in the thermometer he looked at the man. Sherlock had lost weight that he could ill-afford to so he was unhealthily thin. His naturally pale skin was so white that if he had not hauled him to the couch himself he would have thought him a ghost.

John wanted to be mad but with Sherlock looking so much like he did that day when John had thought he was dead all the man could feel was worry.

The thermometer beeped and to his relief he found that the detective had only a slight fever.

Minutes or maybe it hours later Sherlock cracked open one multicolored eye. "J'on?" he slurred.

"Hey," John whispered to him.

"Sorry," Sherlock said closing the eye and attempting to sit up.

John pushed him down. "Stop that you bloody idiot."

Sherlock submitted quickly and lay back down.

"What are you sorry for?" John asked as he pulled the blanket back up where it had slipped down Sherlock's lanky form.

"Everything." He said.

"I should be angry," John sighed. "I really should."

"Why aren't you?" Sherlock whispered in a confused tone because he had just noticed that John was not even the slightest bit angry at the moment.

"Part of it is that I am tired and haven't quite figured out if this is just a hallucination brought on by my splintered psyche. The other part is you showed up on my outside my door passed out and looking half-dead."

Both eyes opened to look at him studying him with an intense gave as though he sought to memorize him and John could not look away. John felt warm under that unrelenting gaze. He had missed being studied like that, had missed having things known about him from one glance of those mesmerizing eyes.

'Odd thing to miss,' he mused silently feeling more alive than he had in a long time.

Suddenly Sherlock smiled.

"What?" John asked smiling a bit himself.

"I don't know," Sherlock said almost as surprised as John was that he had actually said those three words.

A sudden look passed over Sherlock's face and he went into a frenzy looking for his clothes before he spotted them over by the fire.

"I need my coat John," he said quietly.

Then as though the last three years had been nothing but a terribly long nightmare John did something he never thought that he would do again: he followed Sherlock's command without question or hesitation.

The long black coat was still wet but it dryer than it had been. Once he handed it over Sherlock dug through the pockets and pulled out a small plastic bag. In the bag was a small item wrapped in a sparkly blue wrapping paper.

"Merry Christmas John."

John took the package with trembling hands. "What is this plan B?"

Sherlock smiled and said "No this was plan C actually. Plan A was to guilt you into letting me in after the inevitable collision of my face with your fist. Plan B was to sneak in but I figured you might shoot me if I did that."

"Passing out wasn't one of the options there." John noted.

"No that happened because I was trying to decide what to do and my transport failed me." He said sounding a bit frustrated.

John rolled his eyes and smiled fondly.

"Well?" Sherlock said gesturing at the present and if John didn't know better he would say that Sherlock was a bit nervous about if he would like it or not. Just to tease him he began to open the gift with slow movements so that he would not rip the paper.

An impatient sigh came from the sofa but John laughed and pulled off the paper even more slowly. It was obviously some kind of jewelry. On top of the box though was a card with black lettering that said, 'I've been an arse' and underneath for comedic value Sherlock had sketched a small donkey. On the inside it said 'so please forgive me' but that had been crossed out with a thin marker in favor of an arrow with the words 'this is a stupid phrase seeing as I don't do sentiment' next to it in Sherlock's tidy scrawl.

John laughed and set the card aside and opened the jewelry box. Inside was a long chain with one of those dog tags that you could personalize. It was not new and as soon as he read the inscription he understood. The inscription was 'J.W. & S.H.' underneath that there was a small circle that obviously represented forever.

"I wore that the whole time I was away," Sherlock admitted when John looked up. After John removed that he felt something in the material in the bottom of the box. It was a small set of index cards bound with a small silver key chain ring. The first said 'owner of this is allowed…' the next card said 'to get me to eat **one** meal without complaint' the next 'to veto an experiment'. John set the ring of cards down and smiled oh he was going to have fun with those.

"Thank you for my gifts," John said.

Sherlock scoffed and pretended that he didn't care.

"Tea?" John asked.

Sherlock could hear the questions that lay beneath the word. John was asking if he would stay. He was asking if he could walk into the absurdly small kitchen, make tea, and turn around and see him still in the same spot.

"Yes." Sherlock said.

John got up from the floor grabbing his gift box and walked into the kitchen and for the in more than a year he prepared two cups.


End file.
